


Harder, Faster, Longer

by afrocurl



Category: Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-09
Updated: 2007-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-13 11:30:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2149110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afrocurl/pseuds/afrocurl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the beginning of...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harder, Faster, Longer

**Author's Note:**

> Written as the [](http://vm-library.livejournal.com/profile)[**vm_library**](http://vm-library.livejournal.com/) "Dire Straits" challenge. Thanks to [](http://starxd-sparrow.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://starxd-sparrow.livejournal.com/)**starxd_sparrow** for the beta and support all along. At this point, all mistakes are my own.

Staring into a dark, dank room, Logan has one very clear idea what this night is all about. Trying to keep his cool and not let on that he’s awake, he tries to look around for clues as to why he is being held captive on this particular Tuesday night. House _better not be new this week, or these assholes are going to pay._

Out of the shadows, two men wearing black approach him. Only one speaks, only one touches him. The other slinks off into the shadow, ominous looking in the dim light from the flood lamp hanging against one wall.

“Wake up, sleeping beauty,” the masked man grits out.

Struggling will only make this more real—more of the show he needs this to be. Looking around the room confused, Logan asks, “What the Hell is this?”

The one talking is going on about a Bible and a trial with the other man playing the role of jury and executioner. It takes a moment for the talking one to indicate the silent one’s location in the room, but Logan knows the other man was there before the visual confirms it. _Better to play stupid than get a kick in the balls._

Logan strains against his restraints—anything to indicate that this situation is something unwelcome and unknown.

Moving again against the cheap vinyl, Logan watches intently as the first man flips open his cell phone, making a call.

The small plastic device moves in front of Logan’s mouth before someone speaks.

“First question for the defendant: what happened to Felix that night on the bridge?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know!” he squeaks in response, selling the scared-shitless routine.

The closer man doesn’t buy Logan’s gutted plea of ignorance, motioning the other man over.

The man pulls a pistol from his belt loop; the cool steel finds its way over Logan’s wrist before the hammer is cocked. The barrel sits inches from his wrist, and for the first time since he woke up, Logan _is_ scared shitless.

Pleading for his life, Logan mutters his rehearsed line over and over. “I don’t know. I don’t fuckin’ know, man!”

Neither masked man believes Logan, and he's forced to watch the trigger slowly being pulled. Words jumble together in his head, and he can’t process that an actual gun is being pointed at his wrist waiting to be fired.

A soft click of air escapes the gun, and Logan looks on, shocked at the lack of a bullet and blood against his skin. _FUCK!!_

The prosecutor speaks again, taunting Logan further with the possibility of ending up missing another appendage. Logan continues to struggle against the mattress, mumbling his line over and over until another clip of the gun hisses out.

No blood, Logan notes, before both men slap him against the mattress.

Slowly losing focus on the men, Logan’s mind only registers the building pressure on his cheek from the slap before his eyes close of their own volition.

-*-

He wakes up just as the van stops. Unsure of where he is, Logan keeps his eyes closed as his captors open the door and fling his body down a hill.

As he rolls, Logan can hear the van pulling away. Once the car’s engine is no longer audible, Logan slowly rises from the ground, hitting redial on the cell he nicked from one of his captors.

“Is it done?” the gruff voice on the other end asks.

“Oh, it’s just getting’ started, Weevs. You have no idea the Hell you’ve just brought on yourself,” Logan dryly replies, his hand still shaking from the roll down the hill.

Weevil clicks the phone dead, leaving Logan’s comment hanging in the air.

Logan looks out against the pitch, and starts to walk up the hill.

-*-

Weevil wakes up to the sound of a loud rap against his window. Rubbing his eyes to rid them of lingering sleep, he slowly moves off the well-worn mattress towards his only window. Under half-lidded eyes, Weevil makes out Logan’s frame against the pale moonlight.

“What the Hell?”

“Business,” Logan retorts, nodding pointedly toward the latch on the window.

“We’ve got nothin’ to talk about, Echolls.”

“Yes. We. Do.” Logan says emphatically. “You owe me.”

“Owe you what?”

“Compensation for tonight,” he bites out, pushing up on the sash. “Your goons made it very clear that my acquittal is not popular around these parts.”

“You don’t say?”

“I do say. Why the fuck are we back here, Weevs?”

“Justice—pure and simple.”

“For the last fucking time, I didn’t do it!” Logan hisses through the closed window.

He lets himself in the small room, inspecting his new surroundings while trying to calm down.

“So _this_ ,” he waves his hands around, “is where you live, Weevs?” The gesture calms his nerves.

“Yuh huh. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to get some shut eye.”

“Actually,” Logan says, tapping his index finger against his chin, “I do mind.”

Weevil’s expression suggests his displeasure. “Come again?”

“Well, now that you mention it…” Logan trails off, before shucking his jeans down to the floor. “I came to show you what I went through tonight,” he says letting the words hang in the small space. “Metaphorically.”

"What in Hell are you talking about, Echolls?”

“You heard me, Weevs. Time for you to get as good as I did tonight.” Logan’s hand moves down his thigh towards his boxers, fisting his semi-hard length.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Weevil stares at his enemy-cum-ally’s burgeoning erection. “You got hit in the head, right?”

“Nope. Just a _friendly_ game of Russian roulette with my wrists and kneecaps.”

“ _That’s_ their idea of justice?”

“Guess so. Now, drop your pants before I shove them down. I’m not in the mood to dick around.” He lets out a self-satisfied laugh at his comment before his eyes fall on Weevil again.

“Hold on, Echolls,” he grits back. His boxers hit the floor before he turns around to face Logan.

“That’s more like it,” Logan snips.

“You’re twisted, you know that?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely. I’m about to fuck you, aren’t I?” Logan asks as he regards Weevil’s naked body.

Shaking his head in confusion, Weevil sighs. “Right, whitey.”

Logan pads over to his conquest, shoving him towards the mattress when only inches separate them. Once Weevil lies against his mattress, Logan slides his hand back into his boxers, jerking his hand over his cock.

A moment later, Logan’s boxers are on the floor, and he advances towards Weevil's prone body.

Flopping into Weevil’s space, Logan caresses the hard planes of Weevil's torso.

“Wha’ the fuck?” Weevil spits, flinching away from Logan’s almost tender ministrations.

“Personal brand of justice, _vato_. You fucked with me before, and I let it slide, but now I want to play.”

“This is about Lilly?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” Logan replies as his hand comes to rest on Weevil’s hips. A moment later, Logan’s hand snakes further down Weevil’s body, slowly fisting his balls.

“Chirst!” Weevil grits out.

“That’s more like it,” Logan snipes back, another smirk forming.

Logan’s hand moves back to Weevil’s developing erection, moving up and down the shaft, seeking out friction. “Like that, dontcha?” he growled.

Weevil mumbles incoherently, his eyes watching at Logan’s hand on his body.

Fisting harder, Logan nods before hissing, “Thought so.”

White hands continue to work against tan skin, and Weevil’s mumbles become more sporadic. Logan’s grin only widens before he abruptly stops stroking Weevil.

“Huh?” Weevil choked out.

“You’ve had more than enough fun, Weevs. My turn,” he breathes, nipping at Weevil’s throat. Logan’s fingers drip with Weevil’s pre-come, and he slicks it onto his erection.

Weevil blinks for a moment, processing the events. He’s interrupted by Logan’s gruff, “Get to work!”

Weevil replaces Logan's hand with his own and starts to move up and down the shaft, working up friction. Logan hisses in pleasure at the feel of another hand against his body.

Continuing to work against Logan’s length, Weevil fists harder before reaching down to massage Logan’s balls.

“Fuck!” Logan pants out.

Nodding in response, Weevil continues to work Logan. Logan’s hand lands on one of Weevil’s arms, a silent plea for something—what it is Weevil’s not quite sure.

“Lube?” Logan asks breathlessly.

Weevil shakes his head to the negative. Logan curses under his breath before looking up at Weevil through half-lidded eyes.

Logan works at his erection again, working up any natural lubrication he can muster.

“Flip over,” he commands.

Weevil looks at him blankly for a moment, trying to read the expression on Logan’s face. Noticing the glint of mischief in the eyes looking back at him, Weevil complies.

“Good boy,” Logan comments, still working himself up.

The sound of Logan’s hand against himself stops, and Weevil waits in the eerily quiet room. Logan’s hand slides against Weevil’s length again, and he hisses his pleasure.

As Logan’s hand jerks up and down, Weevil mumbles again, unrecognizable words and slurs mixed with hisses, pants and guttural moans.

Weevil’s teetering on the edge, hips bucking erratically, when Logan halts once more.

“Huh?”

“Hold on,” Logan hisses as his hand leaves Weevil’s body.

A moment later, Logan’s hand returns to Weevil’s hard length, the other cupping Weevil's ass.

Pumping faster than before, Logan’s hand sends Weevil over the edge, just as Logan slips his pre-come-coated dick inside Weevil. A yelp escapes from Weevil’s lips as he comes over his sheets.

Logan sinks further into Weevil as he seeks one final release.

“Payback's a bitch, Weevs,” Logan hisses against his hot skin.

Trying hard to work himself over, Logan rocks his hips. Weevil’s hips move with Logan’s, giving Logan his release a moment later.

Weevil falls hard against the mattress again, limp and tired. Logan withdraws himself from the other boy before flopping against the mattress.

Each boy falls off to sleep, neither touching each other.

-*-

Weevil wakes in the morning to the sound of the shower. _No one should be up this early._ Looking around his small room, however, he notices the other pair of boxers lying on the floor. _Shit!_

Logan pads into the room a moment later, towel slung low against his hips. “Morning!” he chirps.

Picking up his boxers, shirt and jeans, Logan dresses and leaves through the window without saying another word.

Shaking his head in confusion, Weevil slowly eases off his mattress and into the shower.

-*-

Walking into the hallway, Weevil looks around for signs of Logan. Noticing that he seems to have disappeared, Weevil grins as he walks into Algebra.

-*-

Logan runs through the empty hall during Journalism, after suggesting that he take this week’s student poll.

Wordlessly, he drops a small folded sheet of paper into locker 333.

-*-

Two-thirty arrives and the hallways fill with students trying to escape. Walking to his locker, Weevil expects to find some public note about his previous night. Instead, as he opens his locker, a small piece of paper floats out.

Examining it briefly, he opens the folded sheet, reading the hastily scrawled words.

_Breathe a word about last night to anyone and you’ll regret it._

_However, if you’re interested in_ working _together on anything, let me know._

Smirking at the note, Weevil shoves it in his pocket before walking into the bright November day.

-*-

“There’s a note for you, man,” Duncan comments as Logan walks into the suite.

“From whom?”

“Don’t know. It was just brought up by someone from the front desk.”

“Thanks, man.”

Logan picks up the envelope, slowly examining the handwriting as he walks into his room.

Flopping onto his bed, Logan opens the envelope and reads the message inside.

_Working together? Tempting._

_I’ll meet you at ten—my place._

Laughing at the note, Logan settles against his plush mattress.

Flipping open the button of his jeans before he slides the zipper down, Logan imagines the feel of Weevil’s hands against his cock.

Fisting himself quickly, the images fill his mind, before he drifts off into his own blissful ministrations.

Weevil’s name never escapes his lips, but Logan’s brain concentrates on nothing but the Hispanic boy working himself against his body.

_This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship._

Logan wishes time to quickly pass. He has an interesting night ahead of him.


End file.
